Chains
by Dreamingfishy
Summary: Can't you hear the songs of joy and pleasure in the back ground? Or is the sound of my chains too loud for your ears to tune into the sweet melodies I long for?


**I got the inspiration when my sister was watching Phineas and Ferb. They had a short little song called "Chains on me" and I felt it fit. Please review after reading, if you so choose to do so.**

**Right now, I state: I don't own **_**pokemon**_**, or **_**Phineas and Ferb**_** for that matter**.

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**Chains:**

I can never do anything I find fun. Anything I find imaginative, interesting, creative, or exciting.

My life's practically as gray as the knife I am to hold in my pocket, and as blind ad my own eye. I never get to see the light of day. I haven't done anything particularly inventive since the beginning of my life, when they took me from my home. Wherever "home" is, it doesn't matter much anymore. I could have lived in Kanto, or maybe even Sinnoh, but it doesn't matter. Here, is here…Johto.

I hear it in my dreams, most nights. The clanging rings in my ears as I sleep. More like 'fret in my sub-consciousness' then sleep, actually. I feel them weighing down on my shoulders. My feet would drag the ground, scuffing my shoes. And my always-exciting-hands would lay limp to my sides. I felt the iron rub my wrists, and the heavy chains pull me down.

Can't you hear it, the clanks and clangs? The jangling, the clatter, and the chimes? Can't you hear the songs of joy and pleasure in the back ground? Or is the sound of my chains too loud for your ears to tune into the sweet melodies I long for. I'm not allowed to listen, to go outside the lines. I see the colors gray, black, and white. There's absolutely nothing cool about Mask of Ice. Not even to the coldest of temperatures can he crush my hopes. The only thing I really keep living for. Without hope, I would have dropped from the face of the Earth long ago.

He says imagination is wrong. But what is wrong with it? Is it not imagination that runs the world? If there wasn't any imagination, we'd still all be cave people, fighting off wild pokémon with sticks. Wasn't it imagination that invented the pokéball? Or what about the Pokenav, I suppose those just popped up out of nowhere?

No. He is wrong, wrong to assume that I always just want to follow his instructions. To do whatever he tells me, no matter the consequence. Wrong to assume that I don't think about what it would be like to live free, like most kids. Kids with parents to raise you up right, and an older brother or sister to scold you when you do stupid things.

The life of a kid is not living in this place, with him. It's growing up learning how to play hide and seek, instead of learning to disguise yourself, and track down others. It's your dad teaching you to throw a pokéball, not learning to throw knives at a target. It's about having fun with friends. "Living life to its fullest," they say. But the question is; how big is your life?

I guess you never realize how precious life is until it's gone. How every hard day here was a lesson to survive another. Most kids my age, by know would be wondering; "Then what?" For me, that hasn't really crossed my mind. I try and focus on the present. Live in the moment as much as I can, without another beating.

The chains, oh they rattle. They put me to sleep now, I hear them so often. Then I would hear them in my dreams. I can't put on my magic shows, no matter how often I practice. In my sleep, they happen. But that is but a dream. A fake crowd cheering, and an overactive imagination working real things that seem like a sham. I can do them, I really can. I can make my Natus materialize in my small dorm. I can levitate my pokéballs over my head. And I can see from my left side.

Mask of Ice. Just the name sends a shiver down my spine. His cold, harsh tone of his voice, telling you 'no'. The mean ways he got the message to my head. The message of boringness. Plain, dull, 'do exactly as I say' type of message. When I confronted him that one time, I learned never to question his actions again. He had beaten the image into my thoughts.

_"The waterfall of blood spill, pours over rocks made of lost souls_."

I never imagined myself as a killer, an assassin. Never thought I would fill the position he had set: Killer Clown. Still wanting to be that fun, unique, kid of the bunch.

The chains brought me, they pulled my body where my heart didn't want to go. They tugged my hand, forcing me to do things I never thought about doing. I can hear them, and feel them. But when you look you can only wonder. The iron bangles would tear at my soul and my thoughts. They would move my body, my feet, and my fingers. But never my will. I had to stay strong on the inside, no matter how hard they tried to pound through. I could never let them hold back my hopes, dreams, and willpower.


End file.
